


we'll be a fine line

by chasinghappiness



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Snowed In, Stuck on Campus for Christmas, happy holidays!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:46:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21812392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasinghappiness/pseuds/chasinghappiness
Summary: “I, uh. I didn’t think anyone else would be on campus.” He’s got the start of a smile creeping onto his face and she hates the expression. She wants to stand up and throw her coffee into his face but it’s nine in the morning and Tessa would much rather drink the caramel macchiato. When she doesn’t answer right away, the boy nods his head and shoves his hands into his pockets. “That’s cool.”Tessa and Scott are the only students left on campus, so why not spend the holidays together? The only problem: they hate each other.
Relationships: Scott Moir & Tessa Virtue, Scott Moir/Tessa Virtue
Comments: 22
Kudos: 115





	1. one.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm such a sucker for all things Christmas/Holidays, College/University, and Enemies to Friends to Lovers, so why not pile them all into one? This work is mostly finished, so hopefully it will all be up before December 25th! No promises...
> 
> Disclaimer: in this, Tessa and Scott attend Memorial University in Newfoundland. I have never been there, nor do I know traditions or student life there, so everything written in this is a made up assumption based on very little research. 
> 
> Title is from the masterpiece Fine Line by Harry Styles

“Oh, shit.”

Tessa has to stop herself from physically jumping out of her seat, hands gripping the table that her chair is attached to with big metal pipes, turning around quickly to see who the voice belongs to. 

It’s the boy from her Violence and Society class. Of course she remembers him; he’s the one who always seems to want to pick a fight with her. She almost,  _ almost,  _ rolls her eyes at his presence. Instead, she presses her mouth into a tight line and raises her eyebrows at him. 

“I, uh. I didn’t think anyone else would be on campus.” He’s got the start of a smile creeping onto his face and she hates the expression. She wants to stand up and throw her coffee into his face but it’s nine in the morning and Tessa would much rather drink the caramel macchiato. When she doesn’t answer right away, the boy nods his head and shoves his hands into his pockets. “That’s cool.”

Tessa swipes her coffee off the table, her thumb nail playing with the cardboard sleeve. “Mhm,” she replies, taking a gulp of her drink immediately after, burning her tongue on the hot liquid. She pushes through without showing a single sign of pain. 

They stare at each other for a beat and Tessa can feel the uncomfortable air surrounding them. She thinks she could choke on it. Her nail picks and picks at the cardboard sleeve around her cup until it falls off and onto the ground between them. When did she stand up?

“So, how did you—”

“I think I forgot to turn my straightener off.” She cuts him off with the filthy lie. Her hair is hanging around her shoulders in its natural waves. “So, uh, I gotta go.”

Scott tilts his head before nodding it once. “Right. Well, I’ll probably see you around.”

“Yep, see ya,” she says before picking up her backpack and walking right out of the food court. 

She hopes to god that she doesn’t see him again.

**…**

Of course she sees him again because it’s Christmas and their campus really isn’t that big and every student, other than the locals that are picking up a few shifts while the food court stays open, has headed home for the holidays. Except her and Scott.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he says as he slides into the booth across from her, plate in hand which he places on the table while he takes off his coat. “I’d sit over there but I thought it would be a bit weird.”

“Yeah,” she mutters, shoving her fork into her mashed potatoes. “Weird.”

Scott picks up his burger easily, one that Tessa has had before and very clearly remembers barely being able to wrap her hands around it, and takes a big bite. Ketchup ends up pooling at the corner of his mouth and Tessa sits on her hand before she can do something stupid like reach out and wipe it away with her thumb. They don’t do that. What they do is argue about the state of the criminal justice system and how accurate their weekly readings really are. 

Which is why Tessa is a little more than floored that it’s just the two of them, sitting here in an empty food court, eating dinner together. The little angel hanging above their heads seems to taunt her with it’s cherub face and stupid smile.

“Why are you here?” Scott asks around a mouthful of food. 

Tessa scrunches her nose up. “I was hungry.”

“No.” Scott rolls his eyes and picks up a fry, throwing it,  _ literally  _ throwing it into his mouth. “I meant, why are you on campus? It’s Christmas.”

“Maybe I don’t celebrate Christmas,” she shoots back. Fighting with him is too easy. 

“Alright, fine.” His voice is taunting, so much so that Tessa thinks about taking a fry off his plate and chucking it at his head. “It’s the holiday season and the semester is over. Why aren’t you at home?”

“I couldn’t afford it,” Tessa blurts out the excuse quickly. 

More like she would rather chew her own arm off than go back home and be with her family for two weeks. But she’s not about to divulge that information to Scott Moir.

“Bummer,” Scott says, reaching for the ketchup at the end of the table and squirting some on his plate. “Even if you could afford it, I’ve heard that a bunch of flights are being cancelled. It would be a trip making it back home.” 

“Newfoundland is shitty like that,” she says flatly.

He pauses, as if he didn’t even hear her reply, snapping the cap back onto the ketchup bottle and placing it where it belongs, then looking up at Tessa. “Unless you live somewhere close enough that you don’t have to fly.”

It’s phrased like a question, so she replies, “No. London, Ontario.”

Scott’s entire face lights up. “Hey! I’m from Ilderton!” 

Tessa wants to bang her head on the table. Of course that’s where he is from.

“Small world!” he shouts, hand reaching across and jostling her forearm a bit.

“Yeah,” she says more than unenthusiastically. “Why aren’t you at home?” Tessa asks, veering the topic of conversation away from their hometowns before she finds out that his mom was her figure skating coach when she was six, or something equally as crazy. 

“Same as you,” he replies with a shrug. “My dad recently got laid off and my mom’s just experienced a bunch of budget cuts. I don’t have a part-time job this semester, so it was either my nieces and nephews get flown out from Calgary to see their grandparents, or I get flown out. It was an easy choice.”

Tessa feels bad for him. His face has always been expressive in class; angry, happy, thrown off, frustrated, it seems that he wears his emotions on his sleeve. Right now is no different. Sitting across from him, she can practically feel the sadness radiating off of him. He must be close to his family, and it must be heartbreaking missing such a crucial holiday. Tessa wishes she could feel that for her own familial situation.

“I’m sorry,” she tells him, genuinely meaning it. She doesn’t know what to do with her hands, so she picks up her fork and pokes at the turkey on her plate that’s gone cold.

Scott nods his head at the food as he dips a fry into the mountain of ketchup on his own plate and shovels it in his mouth. “You feeling festive?”

Tessa shrugs. “I don’t know, I figured that since the food court is going to be closed Christmas Eve and Christmas Day I might as well get in an actual good meal while I can.”

“What were you going to eat on those days then?” Scott snorts. “Nothing?” Tessa stays quiet and his eyes widen. “No, Tess! You were not just going to fast for the two days of the year when you should be stuffing yourself.”

“I have a box of saltine crackers in my room.”

“Tessa!”

“Well, what else am I supposed to do?!” Her voice starts pitching up, just like it would in their class seminars. God, she hates how riled up he can get her. It’s infuriating. 

Scott pushes his plate aside and leans his elbows onto the table with an eagerness, like if he doesn’t do so then there is no point in continuing this conversation. She admires that part of him; the one where he does everything at one hundred percent or not at all. “You could always cook something.”

Funny. If she were to do that, she would probably burn down the whole campus. She’s not in the right mindset to explain to her mother, whom she’s already fueding with, that she’s been arrested for arson because she couldn’t properly heat up a can of gravy.

“That sounds like a lot of work,” Tessa says, leaving out her completely inept skills in the kitchen. “Besides, it’s fine. I don’t need stuffing or turkey or vegetable casseroles or cranberry sauce.” Although… now that she thinks about it, she has been craving some quality dinner rolls, like the ones from the bakery down the road that she discovered in the middle of fall. They have amazing muffins.

“I refuse to let you go two days living off of saltine crackers.” Scott speaks with a serious tone, leaving no room for arguments. And he loves to argue, so that means something. He stands up suddenly. “Put your jacket on.”

Tessa blinks at him. “Why?”

“Because it’s cold outside.”

“What makes you think I’m going anywhere with you?” she snaps.

Scott jerks his head back, looking like she’s slapped him, but recovers quickly with a smirk. “Because we’re going to the grocery store and I’m going to pick us up some food so that we can make ourselves a real holiday meal.”

_ Wait, what?!  _ This has escalated quickly. Thirty minutes ago, Tessa had been dreaming of the next few days where she would bury herself under her blankets with nothing but old DVDs and a tin of hot chocolate. And her saltine crackers, of course. Maybe there’s still a jar of peanut butter hidden somewhere in the few cupboards she has in her room. Now, her enemy number one, Scott Moir, has just propositioned that they spend not only one day, but two, together, cooking up a holiday meal that they will then share. That sounds like far too much time doing something that Tessa would absolutely detest.

“Why would I do that?” she asks with a roll of her eyes.

Scott grabs her coat and her arm, pulling her out of the bench, keeping a gentle grip on her arm the entire time. “Because I’m not letting you starve to death. I enjoy arguing with you too much for that.”

Tessa glares at him and he keeps his own situated on her. She almost sticks her tongue out. They hold their stand off for what could be a minute or an hour, but she gives in, huffing and snatching her coat from his hands, storming off towards the door so that she doesn’t have to look at his victorious smile for a second longer.

**…**

“Why are there so many types of gravy?” Scott mumbles, picking up his fourth can and inspecting the label.

Tessa leans on the cart with a groan, careful not to push it into the shelf. “Does it matter which one you pick?”

“Of course, T.” Ah. One of the many nicknames that he’s given to her over the past four months in an attempt to ruffle her feathers. At least he’s used a tamer one, especially seeing as there is an older lady at the end of the aisle, keeping a close eye on the two of them while she sifts through the spice bags. “It matters because it has to be perfect.”

Tessa tries her damn best to ignore the way her stomach flips at that comment.

“What about this one?” Scott holds out a can to her.

“Yep, perfect, put it in the cart.” She doesn’t even look at it.

“You didn’t even look at it!”

“Scott.” Tessa glares at him unimpressed. “I’m tired, it’s cold, can we just get the basic ingredients and go back to campus?”

He pouts like he’s three years old and his mom has just told him that he can’t play with  _ that  _ toy, and Tessa kind of finds it endearing. Annoying, but endearing. She almost pats him on the head. “Fine. But if it tastes like shit, I’m blaming you.”

She starts walking again after he plops the can of gravy into their cart. “If I go anywhere near the whole cooking situation the food will guaranteed taste like shit so, sure, go ahead and prematurely blame me.”

“I feel like you’re being a little too harsh on yourself,” Scott says as he walks beside her. They turn down the aisle and head to the bakery section. “You’re too persistent to be bad at anything.”

They pass by a display of red and green Oreo cookies and Tessa pretends not to notice Scott grab two packs and not-so-subtly place them in the cart. “Trust me. I don’t even think I could boil water properly.”

“Pie?” Scott asks, picking up one apple and one peach. Tessa purses her lips for a moment, thinking, and then points at the apple crumble. “I’m determined to make a chef of you over the next few days.”

“Something my mother has been trying to do for eighteen years,” she says with a sigh. “That’ll happen when pigs fly.”

Scott picks up a pack of dinner rolls and throws his hands in the air. She almost has a heart attack thinking he’s going to launch the bag across the store. “Hey, I heard that they actually did that!”

“They made pigs fly? And who is they?” She quirks an eyebrow at him and grabs the rolls from his hand before they end up in the frozen foods section. 

“NASA, I think. They threw them in an aircraft. Oh, free samples!” Tessa scoffs at how easily distracted he gets. Scott just ignores her in favour of picking up a cookie from the little cart and stuffing his face with it. Oatmeal crumbs land on his shirt. “But yeah,” he says around the cookie pieces in his mouth. She’s learned in the past few hours that he is incapable of shutting up, even while eating. “They posted pictures on MySpace or something.”

“You have a MySpace?” she asks, a little surprised.

“It’s 2008, Tess, of course I have a MySpace.” He smirks and pops the last bit of cookie into his mouth. “Why, do you wanna add me?”

She rolls her eyes and picks up a cookie of her own from the sample cart, going for the chocolate chip one instead of oatmeal raisin like Scott had. “I couldn’t think of anything I want less.”

“Ouch.” He feigns hurt with a hand slapping over his heart. “You wound me.”

“Just grab a container of chocolate chip cookies and lets get going.”

They have yet another argument at the cash register. Tessa insists on a 50/50 split in terms of payment, but Scott fights her on it; he wants to pay for it all. Something about the dinner being his idea that he dragged her in to. And because she always has to one-up him, she insists on paying for it all, since he’ll be the one cooking. They argue back and forth until the cashier giggles and compliments their  _ relationship.  _ Scott stutters after that and gives into Tessa’s original idea of the bill being split down the middle.

“What residence do you live in?” Scott asks on the drive back.

She’s about to throw a line at him, something about calling him a creep, but then she realizes that he wants to know so he can drop her off. “Oh. Uh, it’s okay. I can walk.”

“Don’t be stupid,” he says with a shake of his head. “It’s just started snowing again, I can take you there.”

“Thanks,” she mumbles, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

Scott smiles over at her, a kind of smile that isn’t conniving or vindictive or has any purpose other than being warm. “So, where are you?”

Her breath hitches. “Uh, Burton’s.”

He whistles. “Dang. No wonder you couldn’t afford to go home, you spent all your money on res.”

“Yeah.” She chuckles awkwardly. At least he didn’t flat out call her on the original lie she told him earlier of why she couldn’t make it home. It’s a known stereotype attached to living in Burton’s Pond that you come from money, or you at least aren’t hurting for it.

The drive to her apartment is short and quiet, the radio filling the silence with old Christmas songs that Scott hums along to. 

“Here we are,” he says when they pull up to the front door. “Would you be able to take the turkey with you? I’m over in Macpherson and I’m not sure if I’ll have enough room to store all of the food.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. No problem.” She nods her head and opens the back door where they stored all of the groceries. “Do you, uh, do you want to come over here tomorrow night to cook?” she calls to him where he is still sat in the front.

He turns around and shoots her another genuine smile. If he doesn’t stop that she may turn permanently red. “That might be best. I was going to ask but…”

“Yeah, of course,” she says. “I have more room.”

“Alright, well.” He clears his throat and she nods her head.

“Yep. I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow. Just buzz when you get here.”

“See you tomorrow, Tess.” 

He smiles one last time and she shuts the back door with a slam.


	2. two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of your feedback and kudos already! I hope you stick around to see these two idiots hopefully work their shit out. Your comments and love keep me motivated to wrap up and keep editing. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

The buzzer in her apartment is what wakes her up. She flips over in bed with a groan and rubs at her eyes before glancing at the clock and seeing that it’s just after eleven in the morning. She stayed up late last night watching Umbrellas of Cherbourg, leaving her exhausted this morning. The DVD's main screen is still playing softly on her TV, a string of violins swelling through the speakers, which she must have left on in her sleepy haze. She’s about to pull her blankets up over her head when the buzzer goes off again.

“Fuck,” she grumbles and throws off the covers, pulling on her robe and slippers then padding out of her room to the front hallway. “Hello?” she croaks into the tiny microphone spot on the receptor.

“Hey, Tess!” a cheery voice shouts back at her, so loud she has to place her hand over the speaker to quiet it. 

She pushes the button and hisses, “Go away!”

It’s a second before his voice is back. “I thought we were cooking dinner?”

“It’s eleven in the morning,” she states back, as if he should know that and as if he should know that it is far too early to be waking her up. Her mouth is still dry, that’s a sure sign she shouldn’t be awake nor speaking to anyone. 

“The turkey has to cook and I wasn’t sure if you knew how to put it in and — look, can you just let me in? It’s cold as fuck out here, we can argue in the heat.”

She groans before saying, “Fine,” and unlocking the front door to let him in.

He’s knocking on her door a minute later, and when she pulls it open his smile is much too shiny for her, especially seeing as she has exactly zero cups of coffee in her. 

“Cute look,” he says with a wink, gesturing to her outfit.

She looks down and sees her fuzzy hot pink slippers, the baby blue pajama set she threw on last night that has little Santas dotted over them, something she did in haste to make herself feel better about her very unfortunate circumstances this holiday season, and the robe that matches her slippers. She pulls said robe tighter around her and grumbles something that she hopes sounds like  _ fuck you  _ before walking back into the apartment and straight to the kitchen where she turns on a kettle of hot water.

Scott follows her closely and places the grocery bags he carried in onto the counter. He opens the fridge like he owns the place. “Do you have a roaster?”

Tessa stares at him. “A what?”

He laughs loudly, a sound that reverberates around the old piping in the building, and pulls the turkey out of the fridge, placing it on the counter. “A roaster. Like, the thing we’re going to cook the turkey in?”

“Uh, that’ll be a no.”

“I figured.” She scrunches her nose up at the statement even though he isn’t wrong. If she can’t cook for shit, then what would make him think she would have a… a… whatever the hell it is he just asked her for. “I can just look for something that you or your roommates could have.”

He bangs around in her cupboards for a minute or two while she pulls out the tub of instant coffee from under the sink and a mug from above it. The kettle whistles at the same time Scott lets out a loud  _ AH-HA!  _ meaning he must have found what he was looking for. It’s a big, deep, metal pan that she’s pretty sure she’s seen her roommate, Rachel, use once or twice. He gets to work cutting open the plastic wrapped around the turkey then places it in the sink.

Tessa watches him out of the corner of her eyes while she spoons some of the instant coffee out of the tin and into her mug. It’s one of her favourites; white on the outside, a light pink on the inside, and a watercolor ballerina painted delicately around the handle. “Want some?” she asks, nodding her head at the mug. 

Scott scrunches his nose up as she pours the hot water into the mug. Steam fills her nostrils and it’s so warm she has to take a step back. “You drink instant? I would have thought you were a little classier.”

“I’m a first year university student,” she deadpans. 

“Ah.” He nods his head once. “Well, alright then. You got cream?”

“Loads.”

He grins and slaps the turkey. The sound it makes is more than disgusting but Tessa still finds herself giggling after. “I feel like there’s a dirty joke in there somewhere.”

“You’re gross.”

Scott turns the water on, letting it run over the turkey. “I’m a first year university student,” he easily tosses the line back to her which she said merely seconds before and she throws her head back, letting out an obnoxious, barking laugh. “I’m starting to think you may like me a little with all this laughing you’re doing, T. And before your morning coffee, too.”

She shakes her head and stirs her spoon around in the mug. “Don’t get your hopes up, I’m merely delusional from sleep deprivation.”

Scott hums and focuses on the turkey, turning the water off then running his hands all over the bird, assumedly trying to clean it while it soaks in the sink. “It’s not healthy to lose sleep, Tess. Don’t you listen to any of our monthly mental health talks?”

“I wouldn’t be short on sleep if  _ someone  _ didn’t come banging on my door this morning.” She pulls the cream from the fridge and uncaps it easily, pouring some into the mug. “Sugar?”

“No thanks,” he says with a shake of his head. “And if I remember correctly, I didn’t bang on your door. I simply rang your bell.”

Tessa passes him the mug of coffee she’s made up for him and he takes it with a nod of thanks, sipping slowly once before placing it on the counter beside him. His hands look slimy from touching the turkey and she turns her nose up at the transfer that has ended up on her favourite mug. That poor ballerina.

“Is that supposed to be a pick up line?” she asks slyly. Her hands shake as she tosses a spoonful of instant coffee into another mug that belongs to one of her roommates.

“Is  _ what  _ supposed to be a pick up line?” He doesn’t look at her. She glances at him, watches closely as he handles the turkey with expertise that he would never be able to fake. Saliva starts to build in her mouth as she thinks of how good this meal is about to be.

“Ringing my bell,” she teases.

Scott smirks at the turkey as he loads it into the pan, then looks up at her and winks. “In your dreams.”

**…**

_ So… now what,  _ she thinks, after the turkey has been seasoned, stuffed, wrapped, and placed in the oven. It already has started smelling magnificent in the tiny apartment and Tessa feels jittery in anticipation. Scott said it would take about five hours to fully cook, and they aren’t able to start on the potatoes or side veggies until it is closer to the time they are going to eat, or else the food will get cold and dry. Suddenly, she has no idea what they are about to do for the next five hours, and her stomach churns anxiously trying to think of how they can make the time pass.

Scott is cleaning up the last of the dishes he used in the process of preparing the turkey for the oven and she sits on the couch closest to the kitchen, watching him closely. There is a natural ease to him while he works in the kitchen. She almost wants to ask if he has more experience than he first let on to her, except it seems unlikely that Scott wouldn’t have already bragged about his talents before he even step foot in her kitchen. 

She has to admit, she’s surprised at how well they have gotten along since he slid into her booth yesterday afternoon. Usually, they’d be at each other’s throat. Or that’s what has occurred in the short history of their relationship. She makes a statement, he rebuttals, vice versa, and so it goes. They’ve never really agreed on much, or if they have it’s been with such a strong reluctance you would think that they were still on polar opposite ends.

The seminar they shared wasn’t light either, which doesn’t help their situation. There were a lot of sensitive topics, ones with grey areas and room for critiques and improvements. And it’s not that Tessa stepped foot in their first class, locked eyes on Scott, and decided that he was her mortal enemy from the get-go. She was actually drawn to him at first, with his kind, warm eyes and his inviting smile. It’s why she chose to sit beside him even though there were about five other options of chairs she could have picked from. But then their first discussion happened: should criminals be given a second chance? Tessa has always believed in rehabilitation, that people make mistakes and one decision shouldn’t determine the outcome of the rest of their life, especially if it was a smaller level crime. But Scott on the other hand was firm in his argument that criminals are criminals and they should pay for their crimes.

That started a four month long, two days a week argument session between the two of them. The rest of their classmates and even their professor grew used to their bickering. 

She’s realizing now, though, that she doesn’t really know much about Scott Moir the human, just Scott Moir the asshole who can set her off with a simple look. There’s something deep down inside of her that makes her think that maybe, under different circumstances, Scott can be… well… different. She can already see it in the kindness he offered her by coming over and cooking her a full holiday meal; albeit, he did kind of force her into it, but the gesture was still there.

“It’s really snowing out there.” Speaking of Scott. He walks over to the couch and plops down on the other end from where Tessa is currently perched. With a glance at the kitchen it appears that the dishes are all cleaned and even put away. “I bet it’s packing snow.”

She snorts. “Are you suggesting we go make a snowman or something?” He grins and she widens her eyes. Oh. That’s exactly what he’s suggesting. “Shouldn’t we stay in here with the turkey?”

“It’s only on two hundred. Plus, we won’t venture far.” He reaches out and pokes the sole of her foot. It’s covered by her slipper but she still shivers. “Don’t be lame.”

“I’m not lame.” She huffs and crosses her arms over her chest. Yeah, sure, sometimes she can be stuck up and a bit of a rule follower, but she is not  _ lame.  _

Scott stands up and ventures over to the coat rack by the front door, which really isn’t far in the grand scheme of things, seeing as the whole apartment is the size of a shoe box. He picks up the hat she was wearing yesterday, a grey one with a huge pom-pom on top, and throws it at her. “Prove it.”

Ten minutes later she is instantly regretting the fire inside of her that burns to prove Scott Moir wrong. 

“Holy fuck, it’s freezing!” she practically screeches.

“Suck it up, T! You’re supposed to be Canadian!” He bumps her with his hip and she almost falls over. Until he wraps his arm around her waist and catches her, pulling her up and into him. Her breath hitches when she looks up and sees how close their faces are. She never noticed how green his eyes were before this. The sun is actually out for once and every speck of colour that his eyes hold seems to sparkle at her. “Or,” he leans in close, his lips almost brushing her ear but her hat gets in the way, “are you a fraud?”

She scoffs and pushes him away. Instantly, her body shivers and misses his warmth. Traitor. “Can a Canadian fraud do this?” She leans down quickly and balls up a pack of snow quickly, before he can catch on, and whips it in his general direction without looking up. Once she does, she bursts out laughing. It turns out her aim is better than she thought.

“Tessa!” His face is covered in snow, the semi-frozen liquid already melting and dripping over his mouth and jaw. He brings up a mitten-clad hand and wipes the snow away, a scowl soon in its place. “Oh, it’s on.”

She screeches and tries to run away, but as she does so she can feel a ball of snow pelt her back, practically knocking the wind out of her. Geez, he has a rough throw. “Scott!” she yells his name but continues running, looking for any type of cover possible, which ends up being a tall evergreen tree that is planted in front of her residence.

There’s about thirty seconds of a grace period where she attempts to make as many snowballs as possible before Scott is rounding the corner with his arms full of snow. How did he have time to gather that much?!

Snowballs go flying in every direction, first her throwing, then him. She gets hit a few times; once on her stomach, twice on her shoulder, once on her left leg. And it appears that she hits him just as much, from the way his red jacket is suddenly dotted with white. 

When it appears that she is out of snowballs, and Scott still has quite a few in his arms, she thinks up a plan. First, she starts to run. Her foot gets caught, conveniently, on a stray tree root that is covered by snow. She falls gracefully, but makes it look rough, including letting out a loud scream as she goes down.

“Oh shit, Tess!” Scott rushes over, getting on his knees beside her. His hands hover over her body, seemingly not wanting to touch her but still wanting to be ready to help. It makes her feel instantly warm even though there’s cold snow seeping in through her thin leggings where she lays on the ground. “Are you okay?”

She puts on her best acting skills, wincing as she sits up. Her hands bury in the snow, holding on, waiting for the right moment. “I don’t know,” she whimpers. And the Oscar goes to… “I think I twisted my ankle.”

“Okay, don’t move,” Scott tells her as he shuffles down her body until he can gently touch her ankle. It’s mostly covered by her Sorel’s, but she can still feel how warm his palms are. The genuine fear and concern on his face almost,  _ almost,  _ makes her rethink the plan. “Does it hurt?”

“I — I don’t know.” He’s too far away. “Wait, I think I hurt my shoulder, too.”

Scott makes his way up her body until he is directly beside her. His torso is touching the length of her side, leaning into her, his hands gently grabbing her arm.  _ Focus on the plan, Tess,  _ she has to tell herself. 

“Is this okay?”

If this were any other circumstance, with any other person, Tessa may have kissed him at that moment. But because it’s not, and it’s him, she picks up a pile of snow and dumps it on his head. He lets out a scream that’s pitched higher than any she’s ever heard before; dogs are probably howling kilometers away. She flops onto her back from the force of her laughter.

“You just played so dirty!” Scott shouts.

“Serves you right,” she says while sitting up. He’s got the biggest pout on his face, water droplets falling down his cheeks and down his neck. It shouldn’t be hot. It  _ isn’t  _ hot. “You’re used to playing dirty.”

“I think I’ve played pretty fair in this snowball fight!”

She narrows her eyes at him. “I’m not talking about the snowball fight.” Her bitter tone isn’t intentional, it’s  _ not,  _ she swears. Maybe it’s just ingrained in her to come at him with all the fire and fight in her. 

The air around them changes. Scott sits back on his haunches, snow so very clearly melting through the kneecaps of his pants, and pulls the hat off his head. His hair is crazy, sticking up every which way, and Tessa bites her lip so she can focus on that sensation instead of reaching out to tame the strands. His face looks… forlorn, almost. But why would he be regretful over his behaviour? He had a whole semester to change and he didn’t. Fighting is their  _ thing.  _ “Tessa…” he sighs.

“My ass is cold,” she blurts out.

His eyes widen. “Oh. Well, uh. Let’s go inside.”

Tessa shuts her own eyes for a moment while she exhales harshly. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

There’s still four more hours until the damn turkey is done.


	3. three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you so much for the love and feedback, I see every single one of you and I appreciate it more than you could imagine!

“Fuck, my clothes are soaked,” Scott says once they get through the door and take off their outerwear.

Tessa feels a shiver rip up her spine and becomes acutely aware of her own sopping clothes that are both freezing and also sticking tight up against her skin. “Same. I’m, uh, going to change.”

“I guess I should go to my own room and do the same.”

“Wait!” She finds herself stopping him. There’s still something uncomfortable between them after Tessa’s snide statement outside. She feels bad about it. Things had actually been going well between them. Even though they ended up in a snowball fight, she found herself laughing throughout, a spark of joy flurrying deep in her belly. She fucked it up and Scott leaving right now feels… wrong. Like maybe the second he steps out the door of her apartment he won’t come back. “I have clothes, if you want to borrow them.”

Scott quirks a brow at her. “You do?”

“Yeah. They’re, uh, my ex’s.” Not really a lie, not completely the truth. More like they’re some guy’s who she met in her psych 101 lecture who she fucked a couple times. But she’s not about to say that. “I’m pretty sure they’ll fit you.”

He smiles at her, soft around the edges, and it feels like a step forwards. “Okay, sure. It saves me a trip across campus. And the sooner I can get out of these clothes, the less likely I am to catch a cold.”

“Right.” She offers him a smile of her own and nods her head. “I’ll just go grab them for you.”

The sweater and sweatpants are exactly where she last left them; buried in her very bottom dresser drawer under her own collection of cozy clothing. She pulls them out and unfolds them, inspecting them quickly to make sure they are clean and free from any questionable stains, then walks back into the common area.

“Here you go. You can change out here or in the bathroom.” She points down the hall. “I’m gonna go do the same.”

“Thanks, Tess.” He holds up the clothes, indicating that is what he is grateful for, and gives her a smile and a nod.

She sighs and heads into her room, shutting the door and leaning her back against it. Since she woke up this morning, it’s been quite the whirlwind of events. Waking up to Scott wanting to come in and cook her turkey, the preparation process, heading outside to have an impromptu snowball fight, and Tessa not-so-subtly blowing up at Scott for no reason. Her breathing is shallow as she wracks through all of the happenings. It’s just hit the afternoon. God, she’s going to be fucked if this is any indication of how the next few days are going to go. 

Pulling out fresh clothes is the only thing on her mind as she shivers from the realization that goosebumps have wracked up and down her body. She changes quickly, finding the warmest clothes she owns, then heads out into the common room. 

Scott must not hear her, clearly evident by the fact that he’s in just his boxers. She throws a hand over her mouth to keep the squeak in and closes her door until it’s only open a crack. It is absolutely a sin that she keeps an eye on him as he pulls on the sweatpants and sweater she provided him, but she just can’t help it. It’s like she’s Eve and he’s the damn apple in Eden. The way his muscles ripple under his skin is sinful in and of itself. She wants to take a bite, to see if he tastes as sweet as he looks. 

God, what the fuck is she thinking?! She can’t be watching him like this, practically naked, and she definitely can’t be thinking these thoughts. Even if it feels like things are starting to shift between them, they definitely aren’t headed in  _ that  _ direction. If anything, maybe they can leave this experience as friendly acquaintances. Tessa needs to get a grip, and fast. The path she is venturing down is a dangerous and slippery slope.

She counts to one hundred in her head, that must be plenty of time for him to get dressed, then opens the door while coughing, making as much noise as possible to indicate her entrance. Scott turns his head to look at her and this time he is thankfully ( _ not-so-thankfully?)  _ fully clothed.

“Hey,” he greets her. “I was just going to go check on the turkey.”

The turkey, it turns out, looks deliciously brown even though there’s a significant time left for it to cook. She peers into the oven over Scott’s shoulder and her stomach rumbles loudly. It hits her that the only thing that she’s put into her body so far today has been a cup of coffee.

“Wanna crack open the chocolate chip cookies?” Scott asks, looking over his shoulder at Tessa.

She grins. “And the Oreos?”

He blushes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Throw away your pride for the cookies.”

They end up in the small common area sitting on the floor around the coffee table, Tessa with her chocolate chip cookies and Scott with his Oreos, though they do occasionally swap without much fuss. She’s also found a few bottles of beer hidden in the back of her fridge that she’s grabbed for them. Scott’s just finished sifting through a collection of CDs that her and her roommates have pooled together and found the Tragically Hip’s Road Apples, which must be Matt’s. 

“I have an idea,” he says after taking a long pull from his beer.

Tessa clears her mouth of cookie before speaking. “And what is that?”

“A game, if you will.” The expression on his face looks dangerous.

She glares at him. “If you ask me to play strip poker I’m going to kick you out.”

Scott snorts out a laugh and shakes his head. “Not quite. It’s a card game slash get-to-know-you game.”

“Frosh week was four months ago,” she points out.

“Ha ha, so funny.” He rolls his eyes dramatically and opens the drawer attached to the coffee table. A loud  _ SCORE  _ escapes his mouth and he pulls out a pack of cards that she’s pretty sure are stained with various types of alcohol from her and her roommates many games of King’s Cup. “Here are the rules. Each suit is a different type of question. We go back and forth, you pull a card and then I pull a card. Whichever suit we draw, we get to ask the other person that specific type of question.”

“Okay,” she says, nodding along. “Sounds simple enough. Which question goes with each suit?”

“Hearts are a favourite question; so, like, what’s your favourite movie. Diamonds are a who question; such as, who is your celebrity crush. Clubs are a how question; how did you learn to do blank, or something of the sorts. And lastly, spades are dealers choice; you get to choose any question you want.”

Tessa breathes in and out once deeply before nodding her head and placing her hand on the top of the deck. She pulls a heart. “What is your favourite movie?”

“Oh, easy. Bloodsport.” He looks pleased with his answer, although Tessa can’t help but scrunch her nose up at it. “What?!”

“Nothing, I didn’t say anything!” She defends, throwing her hands up in front of her. 

He points a finger at her with narrow eyes. “You made a face.”

“It’s just my face.”

“Yeah…” he shakes his head. “Right.” Lucky for her, he doesn’t hold up the fight, but moves on by picking up a card from the deck. He lays it on the table and it’s a seven of diamonds. “Who was your first kiss?”

She chuckles and shakes her head at the memory. “Justin Farrow. God, it was awful. All tongue and teeth and… blah.”

Scott scrunches his own nose at the image she creates for him. “Aren’t all first kisses like that, though?”

“I hope some people in this world aren’t completely turned off from the action for months after their first time,” Tessa says, taking an Oreo from the sleeve and biting off a piece. Scott has a different approach, she’s learned. The cookies get split apart and then he uses the clean one to scrape the frosting off the other, then once it’s all gone he eats both cookies, one at a time. The first time he did it she looked at him like he had two heads, but now she thinks it’s cute in a childlike way.

“I hope so, too.”

Tessa pulls another card from the deck; the king of diamonds. “Uhm… who is your favourite person?”

“Easy,” Scott says with a soft smile. “My mom.”

_ Oh.  _ “That’s… that’s really sweet.” Her insides are truly melting.

He shrugs and plays with the label on his beer bottle. “She does everything for us and never expects anything in return. I know most people think their moms are the greatest, but she truly is the most amazing woman. She owns her own restaurant, actually, it’s how I learned how to cook.”

“No way,” Tessa says in shock.

“Yeah, she’s literally superwoman. It’s actually in London, the restaurant, maybe you’ve heard of it? Moir, Please?”

Her eyes widen in recognition. “Holy shit! That’s your mom’s restaurant?!”

Scott nods. “Mhm, hence the spelling of  _ more _ being my last name.”

It makes sense; she’s surprised she didn’t make the connection sooner. Although, in her defence, she did just learn that he’s from one of the small towns that border her own home. “I love that place! It’s truly one of my favourites. I used to go there all the time whenever I was sad. There’s something about it that's, I don’t know, comforting, I guess.”

“That’s her goal,” he says. “When she opened it, she said that she wanted people to feel like they were at home.”

“Well, she definitely succeeded.”

He smiles and takes a bite of the chocolate chip cookie that she had been previously chewing on. She should be grossed out, but she isn’t. In fact, she kind of wants to pick it up right after he puts it back down and eat the rest. “Good. I’ll have to let her know.” He reaches out and pulls a card; three of clubs. “How did you get those scars on your legs.”

Tessa furrows her brows and looks down at her currently covered shins, subconsciously reaching out to run her thumbs directly over where she knows her scars sit jagged across her skin. “How did you know about those?”

“I saw them at the beginning of the semester when it was still warmer outside,” he says. “I dropped my pencil and when I bent down to pick it up I noticed them.” She’s quiet, biting her bottom lip and staring at a mark on the coffee table that definitely looks like it’s from a cigarette. “Hey.” He reaches out and squeezes her forearm. “You don’t have to answer, I’m sorry if it’s too personal.”

She shakes her head. What does she have to lose? What are the odds that after this weird holiday season the two of them will actually stay in touch? She realizes with a sinking feeling in her stomach that the only reason Scott is here is because there is literally no where else to be, and no one else to be with. “I have compartment syndrome. Since I turned six, I’ve been a dancer. Ballet, specifically. The constant strain on my muscles constricts the blood flow in my legs, causing me immense pain, and so I had to have surgery if I wanted to keep dancing.”

“Did it work?” he asks carefully. “The surgery?”

“Kind of,” she says with a sigh. Her bottom lip might be bleeding by now from all the gnawing. “I need to go to physio and I haven’t been dancing a lot lately. School has kind of taken my attention.”

“I’m sorry, Tess,” he says, and it’s so genuine she almost chokes. “You definitely look like a dancer.”

She scoffs and finally looks up at him. The only word that could describe him in this moment is gentle; his face, his hands, his heart. He’s aware that this is a fragile subject and he handles it with care. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s not bad!” he states quickly. “You’re just very graceful. Even when you’re just walking, it’s like every movement is calculated. You seem… very aware of your body.”

The blush creeping up her neck and pinking her cheeks is warm enough to cause her to start sweating inside her hoodie. She shucks off the blanket she had pulled on once they sat down. “Thank you, I guess.” 

If he looks her up and down, she pointedly chooses to ignore it.

“Your turn,” he says, nodding at the pile of cards.

“Right.” She grabs the top card and sees that it’s a five of spades. And because she’s just opened herself up to him, she feels bold, so she goes right for the throat. “Why do you hate me?”

Scott’s eyes widen. “What? I — I don’t hate you.”

“Then why do you love arguing with me?” she shoots back.

“Uh, if I’m remembering correctly, you’re the one who started the whole disagreement thing,” Scott points out.

“Because  _ you _ disagreed with  _ me!” _ She can feel herself becoming defensive, her walls building up once again, secure and strong around her. “You didn’t even want to hear out my reasons for criminal rehabilitation.”

“My mom’s restaurant was robbed at gunpoint.” 

Tessa freezes.

The room goes silent besides the sounds of The Hip still coming from the speakers. She can’t even hear the oven anymore, and it almost always buzzes while it’s turned on. It’s like even it can feel the tension between them. 

Scott breathes in deeply and looks down at the table. From the way his nail starts to trace the burn mark, he seems to be doing the same thing she was earlier. “It was after hours, she was the only one in there. We were so terrified for weeks. I thought… I thought I was going to lose her. I wouldn’t let her go to work without me or one of my other brothers or cousins. They caught the person who did it, we luckily installed security cameras just a few months before it happened. But I guess they could afford a good defense, somehow. They were served a year in prison, and even then they got out five months early on terms of good behaviour. How is it fair that they didn’t even finish their full sentence, which was a bullshit one to begin with, and my family lives in fear every day? It’s  _ not _ fair. It’s just not.”

It makes sense, it  _ all  _ makes sense now. Every single argument that Tessa can remember having with Scott leads back to this one event that she had no idea about. She feels so utterly stupid. This whole time she thought he was an asshole with some vendetta against her, but really he was simply standing up for what he believes in; he was standing up for people in the same situation as his family, people like his mom. There was the fight about leniency in sentencing, the efficiency of victim impact statements, compensation for victims of crime, resources and supports for the families. Tessa poked and prodded at all of Scott’s bruises until he couldn’t take it anymore and he snapped.

“Scott, I — I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry, I am so, so sorry.” An apology doesn’t even cover the guilt pooling in her gut, but maybe it’s a start. 

“Thank you,” he says. “At least you know that I don’t hate you.”

She chuckles softly and it’s her turn to reach across the table and squeeze his hand that’s laying next to their plate of cookies. “That’s a relief. It’d be kind of awkward having a holiday meal with someone who hates my guts.”

The corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk and he squeezes her hand right back. “Definitely awkward. Speaking of our meal, we should probably get started on our sides.”

Tessa sighs and reluctantly lets go of his hand. He gets up off the ground easily and she chooses to stay seated for a moment, watching him move towards the kitchen. It’s like she suddenly is seeing him in a whole new light. She notices things about him, like the soft swoop of his hair and the muscular build of his back and the dimples that appear if he smiles just right. Gord Downie is crooning in the background about how it’s been a long time running and when he turns to look at her, to see what’s taking her so long, his eyes glimmer against the Christmas lights she strung up a few weeks ago and that they plugged in before starting their game.

“Are you okay?” he asks. 

She feels lightheaded, like if she were to stand up right now she would probably fall right back down. “Yep,” she croaks. “I’m fine.”

Tessa Virtue is anything but fine.


	4. four.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is on the shorter side and is absolutely unedited, but I wanted to get something out because it's been a few days! Plus the next chapter works better all clumped together. I apologize if the progression of this seems unnatural, but it IS fiction, so...

Mashed potatoes, it turns out, are harder to make than she originally thought.

“Wait.” She bites her lip and tilts her head while staring at the pot of boiling potatoes. “Do you put the milk in before or  _ after  _ you mash them?”

Scott freezes, his back to her before he turns around quickly with wide eyes. “Please don’t fuck up the mashed potatoes, they’re my favourite part of the meal.”

“Maybe you should take over then,” she says with a blush creeping up her cheeks.

“Here, you can chop up the carrots.” He hands over the large knife and steps aside so she can take his spot at the cutting board and he can take hers at the stove. “Just… don’t draw any blood, I’m not in the mood for a hospital trip.”

Tessa snorts and grabs the knife in one hand and a carrot in the other. “Is there ever a time when you’re in the mood for a hospital trip?”

“Well, there was that one time when I drank so much I practically begged to have my stomach pumped.”

“Scott!” She barely misses the tip of her finger with the blade. “Jesus Christ, don’t say shit like that when I’m handling a sharp object.”

She turns around and sees him shrug while stirring the potatoes. “I’m just answering your question!” he defends. “You’ve never been that drunk?”

“Nope.”

He’s got a devilish smirk when he turns around to glance at her. “We need to change that.”

“What… tonight?” She starts sweating at the prospect of being blackout drunk around Scott. Who knows what she would let herself do in that state. 

“Why not?” he asks. Slipping on an oven mitt, he grabs the handle of the pot in one hand and the lid in the other and heads over to the sink to strain the water. Steam circles the air around them along with the smell of potatoes. “You have something better to be doing?”

“I feel like one of us should stay somewhat coherent,” she says.

“Who said I wouldn’t?” He has a point.

Plus, it’s a little hard to argue with him that she doesn’t want to get drunk around him because suddenly, like a snap of fingers, she sees him in a completely new light, one that scares her a bit. She can’t just flat out tell him that she may do or say something that she’ll regret. Perhaps she’ll just have to trust herself.

(Disclaimer: she should never trust herself, especially her drunk self.)

“Come on, T,” he says, making his way over to her after placing the pot back on the stove, overtop of an element that isn’t warm. “Live a little,” he whispers in her ear. A shiver rips up her spine.

She shoves at him. “I live just enough, thank you very much.”

“Okay,” he says, hands held up. “I won’t pressure you. But it would be a lot of fun to watch Home Alone and take a shot every time Kevin is a genius.”

Her ears perk up and she pauses chopping the carrots. “I love Home Alone. It’s one of my favourite movies.” 

Scott smirks at her and stabs a fork into a potato; it slices through perfectly, indicating that they must be finished boiling. “Well then…”

Tessa sighs. “Vodka or whiskey?”

“Why not both?” he asks, then pops the potato in his mouth. 

She turns her nose up at him. “You’re gross.”

“You’re the one who gave the suggestions!”

“I meant eating a raw potato.”

“It’s not raw, T, it just sat in boiling water for twenty minutes.”

She hates it when he’s right. “Well… unseasoned, then. Or whatever.”

Scott snorts. “Or whatever. I’ll take whiskey. Vodka brings back bad memories.”

“Is that when you had to have your stomach pumped?” she teases, sticking her tongue out at him and shaking her head to rub it in.

“Very mature.” He rolls his eyes and pokes her forehead. She gasps in surprise and all of a sudden he’s sticking two fingers in her mouth. Her whole body freezes, her lips wrapped around the digits, not knowing what to do. What is the protocol when your enemy turned acquaintance turned friend, over the span of a day by the way, shoves his fingers in your mouth?

Scott seems to realize his mistake almost immediately, his eyes widening and hand quickly pulling away, fingers leaving her mouth with a  _ pop  _ that is definitely suggestive. She opens and closes her mouth, wanting to say something but not knowing what. He beats her to it.

“I’m so sorry,” he blurts, holding his wrist close to his chest, like if he lets go he may place his fingers right back in her mouth. “That’s something my family and close friends do when we’re giving each other attitude. I… it was a reflex, fuck. I’m sorry, Tess.”

She can’t help the giggle that she lets out. “It’s okay, Scott. I’m sure there are worse things you could have done.”

“Putting my fingers in your mouth isn’t a great thing, though.” He sighs and hangs his head in shame.

“Hey.” She lifts his chin with her hand and makes sure he looks her in the eyes before continuing. “I mean it, Scott. Don’t sweat it.”

Besides, how is she supposed to tell him that she kind of liked it, that she can still feel the sweat that started beading at the back of her neck where her hairline meets her skin, that something stirred deep in her belly, that she almost fluttered her eyes shut and hummed around his fingers. She doesn’t tell him, that’s how.

Luckily, the timer on the microwave starts going off, indicating that the turkey can finally come out of the oven. Scott smiles shyly at her before taking his chin from her hand and walking over to open the oven door. Heat pools into the room as he pulls out the turkey and places it on the stove next to the pot of potatoes. She quickly forgets the previous situation in favour of inhaling the delicious smells that the turkey emits into the air. Her mouth begins to salivate and she wants to dig in immediately. Thank god he decided to put his fingers in her mouth  _ before  _ he took the turkey out.

“That smells amazing,” Tessa says dreamily.

He chuckles and inspects the bird closely, looking for any signs that it may not be finished cooking. Stabbing a fork into it with one hand and wielding a knife in the other, he slices off a piece and it falls easily. It looks perfectly juicy.

“Perfect,” they both say in unison.

She giggles and he tries to hide his laughter but fails miserably. 

The green bean casserole comes out of the oven just a few minutes after the turkey. Tessa heads off to set the small table next to the kitchen, dealing out plates, cutlery, napkins, and cups. She brings the finished dishes to the table as Scott gets done preparing them. Watching him carve the turkey is heavenly and she cannot wait to dive in.

It turns out that everything he’s made (and let’s be honest, it was all Scott, no matter how hard Tessa tried to help) is incredible. She devours her food, reminding herself to slow down once she looks down and sees that she’s emptied half her plate in about five minutes. Looking up, she sees Scott watching her closely, a small smile on his face, a fork in hand, and his plate still full.

“It’s embarrassing that you still have all of your food and I’m almost finished,” she says, dabbing at her face with a napkin.

He grins. “I’ve just enjoyed watching you enjoy the food. Go ahead, I could watch you all day.”

“Is that some weird kink of yours?” 

If she looks closely, she thinks he’s started to blush. “No. I just like knowing that people enjoy my food.”

“Well, please take note that I will let you cook for me literally any day of the week. I would do anything for this food.”

He raises a brow. “Anything?”

She looks him dead in the eyes and makes sure she enunciates when she says, “Anything.”

Scott visibly swallows, ignoring the intensity in her statement, and picking up his fork to finally eat the food on his plate. Fuck. Was she too much? Of course he doesn’t want to stick around after these few days and continuously cook for her. And there probably isn’t a whole lot that he wants from her. Unless…

“We can be study buddies,” she blurts out. He finally looks up at her, mashed potatoes shoved in his mouth, and raises a brow in question. “You’re in con-ed, right?” He nods. “Me too. I’m sure we’ll end up in similar courses, especially the mandatory teaching ones. We could benefit from each others… passion,” yeah, that’s a good word choice, “in the classroom.” Scott takes his time chewing even though the food in his mouth is mostly mush. “Then you can cook for me. If… if you want,” she trails off lamely.

Scott swallows his food and smiles at her. “You didn’t have to study with me for me to want to cook more for you,” he says.  _ Oh.  _ Well that’s… something. “But I won’t argue with you. I think we could be good buddies.”

“Study buddies.” Tessa is quick to correct his faux pas. He definitely didn’t mean to imply that they could be friends after this, did he? Although, they have shared quite a bit with each other, maybe it’s just the natural next step. It’s like how the grass is green and winter in Newfoundland is cold as fuck and Tessa and Scott are now friends.

“Right,” he says with a grimace and a nod. “ _ Study  _ buddies.”

She notices how down he looks, how he puts the emphasis on  _ study  _ just like Tessa had. “And…” she reaches across the table and wraps her hand around his wrist, even if her fingers don’t reach all the way around. Her thumb unconsciously rubs circles into his pulse point. “Buddies. Study or otherwise. That is, if you want?”

Scott’s smile is brighter than any strand of Christmas lights. “Yes. I want.”

**Author's Note:**

> I appreciate all of the feedback you have! Thank you for reading, it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy when I hear from you. Happy Holidays xoxo


End file.
